After a few hours of that leaden sleep which follows great catastrophes, Mme. Favoral and her children were awakened on the morning of the next day, which was Sunday, by the furious clamors of an exasperated crowd. Each one, from his own room, understood that the apartment had just been invaded. Loud blows upon the door were mingled with the noise of feet, the oaths of men, and the screams of women. And, above this confused and continuous tumult, such vociferations as these could be heard:
"I tell you they must be at home!"
"Canailles, swindlers, thieves!"
"We want to go in: we will go in!"
"Let the woman come, then: we want to see her, to speak to her!"
Occasionally there were moments of silence, during which the plaintive voice of the servant could be heard; but almost at once the cries and the threats commenced again, louder than ever.
Maxence, being ready first, ran to the parlor, where his mother and sister joined him directly, their eyes swollen by sleep and by tears.
Mme. Favoral was trembling so much that she could not succeed in fastening her dress.
"Do you hear?" she said in a choking voice.
From the parlor, which was divided from the dining-room by folding-doors, they did not miss a single insult.
"Well," said Mlle. Gilberte coldly, "what else could we expect? If Bertan came alone last night, it is because he alone had been notified. Here are the others now."
And, turning to her brother, "You must see them," she added, "speak to them."
But Maxence did not stir. The idea of facing the insults and the curses of these enraged creditors was too repugnant to him.
"Would you rather let them break in the door?" said Mlle. Gilberte.
"That won't take long."
He hesitated no more. Gathering all his courage, he stepped into the dining-room. The disorder was beyond limits. The table had been pushed towards one of the corners, the chairs were upset.
They were there some thirty men and women, - concierges, shop-keepers, and retired bourgeois of the neighborhood, their cheeks flushed, their eyes staring, gesticulating as if they had a fit, shaking their clinched fists at the ceiling.
"Gentlemen," commenced Maxence.
But his voice was drowned by the most frightful shouts. He had hardly got in, when he was so closely surrounded, that he had been unable to close the parlor-door after him, and had been driven and backed against the embrasure of a window.
"My father, gentlemen," he resumed.
Again he was interrupted. There were three or four before him, who were endeavoring before all to establish their own claims clearly.
They were speaking all at once, each one raising his own voice so as to drown that of the others. And yet, through their confused explanations, it was easy to understand the way in which the cashier of the Mutual Credit had managed things.
Formerly it was only with great reluctance that he consented to take charge of the funds which were offered to him; and then he never accepted sums less than ten thousand francs, being always careful to say, that, not being a prophet, he could not answer for any thing, and might be mistaken, like any one else. Since the Commune, on the contrary, and with a duplicity, that could never have been suspected, he had used all his ingenuity to attract deposits. Under some pretext or other, he would call among the neighbors, the shop-keepers; and, after lamenting with them about the hard times and the difficulty of ****** money, he always ended by holding up to them the dazzling profits which are yielded by certain investments unknown to the public.
If these very proceedings had not betrayed him, it is because he recommended to each the most inviolable secrecy, saying, that, at the slightest indiscretion, he would be assailed with demands, and that it would be impossible for him to do for all what he did for one.
At any rate, he took every thing that was offered, even the most insignificant sums, affirming, with the most imperturbable assurance, that he could double or treble them without the slightest risk.
The catastrophe having come, the smaller creditors showed themselves, as usual, the most angry and the most intractable. The less money one has, the more anxious one is to keep it. There was there an old newspaper-vender, who had placed in M. Favoral's hands all she had in the world, the savings of her entire life, - five hundred francs.
Clinging desperately to Maxence's garments, she begged him to give them back to her, swearing, that, if he did not, there was nothing left for her to do, except to throw herself in the river. Her groans and her cries of distress exasperated the other creditors.
That the cashier of the Mutual Credit should have embezzled millions, they could well understand, they said. But that he could have robbed this poor woman of her five hundred francs, - nothing more low, more cowardly, and more vile could be imagined; and the law had no chastisement severe enough for such a crime.